when cas started down this path, dean was just some sweet infatuation - a charming, dork of a man with a brilliant smile and sharp mind and gentle disposition underneath all the terse roughness. that was before angel food cakes and evenings curled up together on his couch, cas tracing the lines in dean's palm absently while talking low about hopes, dreams, douchebags who wear sunglasses indoors, and the merits of impractical action films. before he kissed him and it felt like floating on air, like he didn't really know what a kiss was supposed to be before dean winchester. cas was willing to pay the cost of rebellion himself, but he never thought the price would be dean. what an idiot he'd been.
dean's rattling off commands and he wants to refute, shove back, refuse to accept this sacrifice, but it all happens so fast. his head's spinning and cas barely has a moment to plead with him — ] No, Dean, please, you can't—
[ and then their lips crash together and cas realizes, with sudden horror, it may be the last kiss they ever have, hands gripping at the front of his shirt, desperate to keep him close. it's futile. the shrikes crack the door in and before cas has time to make a move to supersede, dean's claimed the guilt for this. silent as he throws out faked vitriol to play the part, cas feels like his body's gone numb, rooted in place and devastated as he watches it all play out.
eyes glassy and jaw gaping with words he can't find, the genuine heartbroken despair cas wears plainly fits plenty well enough into the narrative dean's painting for the shrikes. it wasn't supposed to happen like this. it was supposed to be his life on the line only.
it's like the air's sapped from the room when the cardinal steps in behind the line of shrikes manhandling dean into cuffs, and a shot of icy terror races up cas's spine. he knows him. everyone in parliament knows him, but for cas it's more personal, having just gained the ire of the arrogant, imposing cardinal days or weeks earlier. dean may have just thrown himself onto the pyre for nothing at all, and the realization is utterly crushing. shocked, numb, frozen in inaction, his eyes drift to dean's, bleeding sorrow and apology in the gaze. he fucked up, dean. he fucked up so, so bad, and he's so sorry. he's ruined the both of them.
in stark contrast to the defiance he'd shown stephen before, cas's eyes drop immediately away from him, towards the floor. there's nothing he can do now, but watch and wait, in silent dread, for the axe to fall. ]
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when cas started down this path, dean was just some sweet infatuation - a charming, dork of a man with a brilliant smile and sharp mind and gentle disposition underneath all the terse roughness. that was before angel food cakes and evenings curled up together on his couch, cas tracing the lines in dean's palm absently while talking low about hopes, dreams, douchebags who wear sunglasses indoors, and the merits of impractical action films. before he kissed him and it felt like floating on air, like he didn't really know what a kiss was supposed to be before dean winchester. cas was willing to pay the cost of rebellion himself, but he never thought the price would be dean. what an idiot he'd been.
dean's rattling off commands and he wants to refute, shove back, refuse to accept this sacrifice, but it all happens so fast. his head's spinning and cas barely has a moment to plead with him — ] No, Dean, please, you can't—
[ and then their lips crash together and cas realizes, with sudden horror, it may be the last kiss they ever have, hands gripping at the front of his shirt, desperate to keep him close. it's futile. the shrikes crack the door in and before cas has time to make a move to supersede, dean's claimed the guilt for this. silent as he throws out faked vitriol to play the part, cas feels like his body's gone numb, rooted in place and devastated as he watches it all play out.
eyes glassy and jaw gaping with words he can't find, the genuine heartbroken despair cas wears plainly fits plenty well enough into the narrative dean's painting for the shrikes. it wasn't supposed to happen like this. it was supposed to be his life on the line only.
it's like the air's sapped from the room when the cardinal steps in behind the line of shrikes manhandling dean into cuffs, and a shot of icy terror races up cas's spine. he knows him. everyone in parliament knows him, but for cas it's more personal, having just gained the ire of the arrogant, imposing cardinal days or weeks earlier. dean may have just thrown himself onto the pyre for nothing at all, and the realization is utterly crushing. shocked, numb, frozen in inaction, his eyes drift to dean's, bleeding sorrow and apology in the gaze. he fucked up, dean. he fucked up so, so bad, and he's so sorry. he's ruined the both of them.
in stark contrast to the defiance he'd shown stephen before, cas's eyes drop immediately away from him, towards the floor. there's nothing he can do now, but watch and wait, in silent dread, for the axe to fall. ]